The laptop pinged, interrupting the movie we were watching. Oliver had just gone to the restroom and left his laptop open on the coffee table.I looked at the screen, and the bright topic line drew my attention. “Dear Mr. Oliver. We are excited to announce that the New Year’s party is coming up! Dress code: White Party. You may bring a companion (your wife). Address…”
His employer did not accept plus-ones. Never. I couldn’t count how many times I heard him complain about it. However, there it was in black and white, plus one (your wife). When Oliver returned, I tried to remain cool, despite my mounting curiosity. “Your office is throwing a New Year’s party?” I asked casually. “Oh, yeah,” he responded. “There’s nothing big. “Just the usual end-of-year activities.”
“Can I come?” “No, they do not allow guests. “It’s more of a work event.” I frowned. “But the email stated—” “They don’t, Jennifer. “Trust me.” That was the first time I encountered something unexpected. Oliver was typically working late or traveling for business, so I had become accustomed to his absence. I trusted him because that’s how married people behave. However, his response felt strange.
New Year’s Eve had arrived, and I stood before the mirror, adjusting my white attire. Curiosity had gnawed at me for days. Why didn’t he want me at the party? Was he embarrassed? Are you hiding something? “Happy New Year, Jen!” he said, grabbing his coat and kissing my cheek. “Happy New Year,” I responded. As soon as the door clicked shut, I grabbed my purse and headed outside.As I approached the reception desk, I felt scared but determined.
“Name, please?” the manager said with a courteous smile. “Jennifer. “I am Oliver’s wife. “I believe there has been some miscommunication. Oliver has already checked in with his plus one. “His real wife.” “He arrived approximately 30 minutes ago. They always appear together, and I’ve seen them several times. I spotted Oliver in the far corner of the room.
He was clearly noticeable in his spotless white suit. My breath caught as I saw him with her—a woman with long dark hair resting her arm on his shoulder.
“Ma’am?” the manager asked kindly, interrupting my thoughts. “There’s no need to check. “I see him.” He paused, as if he wanted to add more, but I’d already stepped away from the desk, party, and Oliver.
I had no idea what I was going to do, but one thing was certain: Oliver would regret it. The phone rang the next morning, right as I was pouring my coffee. “Is this Mr. Oliver’s wife?” “Yes,” “This is Mercy Hospital.” Your husband was involved in an automobile accident early this morning. “He is stable, but we need you to come in right away.” “He suffered a concussion and a broken arm. There are several issues that we will discuss when you arrive.
At the hospital. “Jennifer?” a doctor asked, going approaching me. “He’s stable for the time being, but there’s something we need to discuss,” he continued, motioning for me to sit. “His arm is shattered in multiple places. There is a possibility of long-term damage unless we act quickly. Unfortunately, there is an issue with his insurance. His policy expired last month. You, as his wife, can authorize the procedure and make arrangements for payment.”
When I walked into Oliver’s room, the sight of him surprised me. His face looked pale, and he was wearing a bandage on his head. His arm was in a sling, and he appeared more vulnerable than I had previously seen him. “Jen,” he croaked when he spotted me, his voice thin. “I understand you are upset, but please…” Just listen. It’s not as you think.”
I replied, my voice chilly. “You have lied to me. You have been lying to me. And last night, I noticed you with her. “Did you bring her to that party?” The doctor says you need surgery, but your insurance has lapsed. That sounds like a problem for your real wife to solve.” Part of me wanted to yell, cry, and help him. But then I remembered how many times I had believed him just to learn it was all a lie.
“No, Oliver,” I replied, my voice firm. “You’ve made your choice. “Now you can live with them.” For the first time in years, I realized I wasn’t responsible for cleaning up his messes. A few days later, I received a call from the hospital. It wasn’t the doctor. It was Oliver.”Jen, please,” he implored. His speech was raspy, almost indistinguishable. “She did not come. I am alone here. “I need you.”
I hung up and blocked his number. In the following weeks, I learnt from common friends that Oliver’s career was faltering. The news of his affair spread at work. The woman he had showcased at the party was no longer with him, and his charisma no longer seemed to fool anyone. But I did not feel sorry for him. I felt free. For years, I, Jennifer, had been a dedicated wife. Jen was now gaining control of her own life.